I played golf with Dave again yesterday. We drove out to Mission Hills, grabbed a cart, and took along a 12 pack of Coors Light. It looked like it was just going to be me and him, which is just how I like it (I don’t particularly like playing with strangers).

As we’re warming up some jackass comes walking out to the tee box and asks if he can play with us. This poor guy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

The stranger in our threesome was your classic wanna-be PGA tour professional type. He was all decked out in his red Ashton polo shirt (top button buttoned, a la Tiger Woods) with a brand new Calloway monogrammed golf bag, Nike golf balls, and Titleist ball cap. I hate these guys. He lined up every putt and in general took his sweet ass time doing everything. He even took his glove off on the green to putt. He was all serious, all business. Borrrrrrrinnnng. Why play golf if you’re not going to have any fun?

Anyway, Dave and I were boozing it up, talking during each other’s swings, spitting Copenhagen on each other’s golf balls, hitting discarded tees in the grass at each other, putting and hitting when ready and not waiting for our “turn”… Blaine (no bullshit, that was his name) was not very happy with our antics. Anyone who knows me, knows that I like to push buttons. This guy was asking for it. So I fucked with him the whole round, being as obnoxious as possible. And Dave played right along with me.

By the end of our round Blaine wasn’t talking to us any longer. Mission accomplished. We walked off the last green without exchanging pleasantries. See ya later, jackass.

I think we got more enjoyment out of purposely being dorks to piss off Mr. PGA Tour than anything. Of course, it’s always fun to hang out with Dave. But yesterday was exceptional.